#not everything has to be a masterpiece and I mean I’m doing this for fun and for free

[yannfredericks]

>:(

[00valentina-writes00]

✞⛧ Random dating thoughts (that slowly get more heated) ✞⛧

𝒜𝒷𝒷𝓎 Edition

✞⛧ Abby would insist on being your gym buddy and make a big deal about spotting you, even if you’re lifting the lightest weights. “Babe, safety first!” Meanwhile, she’s bench-pressing twice your body weight with ease.

✞⛧ She eats like she’s fueling a tank, so if you order fries, you better guard them with your life. But if you pout, she’ll reluctantly push her plate toward you. “Fine, take some… just not the chicken.”

✞⛧ She casually challenges you to arm-wrestling matches, and even if you lose every time, she makes a point of flexing and teasing: “Don’t feel bad—these guns are a gift, really.”

✞⛧ Abby has mastered the art of braiding hair thanks to her own routine, but she’s shockingly bad at braiding your hair because she gets nervous about pulling too hard. “How do you not sit still for this?!”

✞⛧ When she’s into you, her flirting style is a mix of being overly cocky and downright awkward. “I could totally carry you on my shoulders and outrun a horde. Wanna test it out?”

✞⛧ Abby has a fierce protective instinct. She’s the type to walk you home even if the world’s relatively safe, and she’ll always scan your surroundings for anything suspicious.

✞⛧ While she’s tough and stoic most of the time, Abby opens up about her past with you in small, vulnerable moments—usually when she feels safe in your arms.

✞⛧ Her love language would absolutely include acts of service. Whether it’s repairing your gear or making sure you have enough to eat, Abby shows her love by ensuring your needs are met.

✞⛧ She’d establish a small tradition, like watching the sunrise together after her early morning workouts, with you groggily sipping coffee while she teases you about “needing more gains.”

✞⛧ She’d lean on you during tough times but struggle to admit when she needs help. You’d have to gently remind her that being strong doesn’t mean carrying everything alone.

✞⛧ Once Abby Finds Out You Can’t Open Jars It’s over. She teases you constantly. She’ll swoop in with a dramatic, “Don’t worry, I got this,” flex her biceps unnecessarily, and pop it open in one try—every single time.

✞⛧ You Snore? She records it. Every time. Then uses it as leverage when you tease her about her overly serious workout routines. “You think I’m dramatic? Babe, listen to this masterpiece.”

��⛧ You’d think she’d be bad at cooking, but she’s weirdly good. However, she only knows how to make portions that could feed a military base. “You said you were hungry. This is a reasonable amount of spaghetti.” (It’s not.)

✞⛧ Abby Learns About TikTok? She doesn’t really get it but becomes obsessed with the fitness trends. Suddenly, she’s asking you to record her doing ridiculous challenges, like trying to do pushups with you sitting on her back. (An:IM HAVING WHITHDRAWLS)

✞⛧ Abby is confident on the battlefield, but when it comes to dating, she can get a bit awkward. She stumbles over her words, especially if she’s nervous about impressing you.

✞⛧ Abby shows her affection by doing things for you, like fixing something you need or sharing her limited rations. She’s the type to ensure your boots are patched and your weapon is ready.

✞⛧ She loves teasing you, especially once she gets more comfortable. Whether it’s poking fun at your bad aim or how much you complain about patrols, it’s always lighthearted and affectionate.

✞⛧ Abby gives the best hugs—firm, warm, and grounding. She holds you tightly as if to shield you from the world.

✞⛧ While she’s strong and intimidating to others, she’s incredibly gentle with you. She’ll brush your hair out of your face, kiss your forehead, and hold your hand when you’re anxious.

✞⛧ Abby is always looking for small items that might make you happy—whether it’s a flower she finds, a worn-out book, or something she crafts herself.

✞⛧ In rare quiet moments, she’ll grab your hand and sway with you to the faint sound of music from an old record player or her own humming.

✞⛧ Her apologies are sincere and often accompanied by small actions to make it up to you, like offering to take over your duties for the day.

✞⛧ Once Abby falls for you, she’s all in. She’s fiercely loyal and will do anything to ensure your happiness and safety.

✞⛧ Though she struggles to express her feelings at first, over time she becomes more vocal about how much you mean to her. “You’re the reason I keep fighting” is something you’d hear her say during particularly tough days.

✞⛧ Abby doesn’t say “I love you” often, but when she does, it’s raw, heartfelt, and utterly sincere. She prefers to show her love in the little things—like keeping your favorite item safe or holding your hand just a little tighter in dangerous moments.

✞⛧ She watches you when you’re not looking, memorizing every little thing about you. If you catch her, she’ll smirk but won’t admit to it.

✞⛧ Abby tends to fidget around you—twisting a knife in her hand or adjusting her gear—especially when she’s nervous or unsure how to express her feelings.

✞⛧ Abby hates unresolved tension and prefers to address issues head-on, though her bluntness can sometimes make things worse.

✞⛧ She ensures you’re always safe in their post-apocalyptic world. Abby checks your surroundings meticulously, insists on teaching you self-defense, and would sacrifice everything to protect you.

✞⛧ Abby is the kind of partner who will always have your back, whether it’s a dangerous encounter or someone making a rude comment. She doesn’t tolerate disrespect towards you.

✞⛧ Watching her play fetch with a dog like Alice is a sight to behold. If you join in, she’ll grin from ear to ear, clearly smitten with the simple joy of the moment.

✞⛧ She brushes strands of hair out of your face or gently holds your chin to make you look at her when she wants your full attention.

✞⛧ Abby is attentive to your needs. If you’re upset, she won’t always have the right words, but she’ll stay by your side, offering silent comfort or a grounding hand on your shoulder.

✞⛧ Abby’s kisses are slow, purposeful, and full of intensity. At first, she’s gentle, her lips tenderly exploring yours as though she’s savoring the moment. But as the kiss deepens, her confidence takes over, and she becomes more demanding, pressing you against her with a firm grip on your waist.

✞⛧ She’s a fan of long, passionate kisses, often wanting to take her time to feel the connection. However, when she’s feeling playful or needy, she can turn it into something heated quickly.

✞⛧ Abby loves kissing you on your forehead, especially when she’s feeling particularly affectionate or protective. It’s her way of showing she cares without saying it

✞⛧ Your loyalty is something she treasures deeply, as she finds it hard to trust others, but with you, she feels safe to let her guard down.

✞⛧ Abby’s drawn to how you challenge her, whether it’s in casual conversations or in moments of intimacy, always keeping her on her toes and making her think.

✞⛧ She adores the way you show affection, especially when you offer small, tender gestures that demonstrate your care for her, like tracing her scars or offering her a quiet moment to breathe.

✞⛧ Abby’s not shy about leaving marks, especially when she’s feeling possessive or protective. She loves to mark you as hers, a reminder to anyone else that you belong to her.

✞⛧ She can be a little rough with you when she’s particularly heated, biting or sucking on your skin with a sense of urgency. She might even pause to admire the hickeys afterward, a slight smirk on her face as she watches you squirm from the heat (If you’ve been together for a while, Abby might leave little marks in places only the two of you know about, as a private symbol of her affection and control.)

✞⛧ Abby’s dirty talk is rough, no holds barred, and calculated. She’s all about taking control and making you beg for it, and she doesn’t hold back from calling you names or pushing your buttons in all the right ways.

✞⛧ Abby doesn’t give up control easily. She’s a hard dom, and she expects you to follow her lead. It turns her on to see you submit to her

✞⛧ she loves spanking you. It could start slow, just a teasing tap, but it escalates quickly as she sees how much it turns you on. She’ll mark you up, and the sting from the slap on your ass stays with you long after she’s done.

✞⛧ While missionary can feel intimate, Abby likes to switch things up by pinning your wrists above your head and giving you no escape. It’s a perfect position for eye contact, and she enjoys how much control it gives her over your pleasure.

✞⛧ Abby gets off on lifting you, pinning you up against a wall or any available surface. The feeling of holding you up while taking you hard and fast turns her on

✞⛧ Abby isn’t gentle when she uses a strap-on. She goes all in, thrusting deeply, making you take all of it, all while commanding you to take her. She’ll order you to stay still, make you beg, and won’t let you move until she tells you to.

✞⛧ She loves watching you as she fucks you with the strap-on. Seeing your face contort with pleasure, the way you squirm beneath her, and hearing the moans and gasps you can’t hold back only heightens her desire. She’ll often tease you about how desperate you look.

✞⛧ Sometimes, Abby enjoys taking her time, slowly sliding in and out, building the intensity. She’ll alternate between gentle thrusts and hard, punishing ones. She likes to see how much you can handle before she goes faster or harder.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Drunk six of crows thoughts (I’m drunk)

Six of Crows = FUCKING LITERARY MASTERPIECE

Thinking about Kaz and how he is effectively the third representation of addiction in books where addiction is one of the main themes and although it’s mostly presented through Jesper (if I see one more person poking fun at/making jokes about/undermining his gambling addiction I’m gonna cryyyyyyyyyyyy) and Nina (probably quite clear but parem) but KAZ

Kaz straight up tells us that nothing he can ever do to Rollins will ever be enough to quench his thirst and you know why???? Because it’s an ADDICTION. And it started smaller, with the roper (Fillip, tortured and then left dead with a wind up key shoved in his throat) and the bank (cost him the break of his bad leg, but he was never deterred and his cane became symbolic of everything he was working for and everything that had happened to him and etc I mean COME ON) and also whilst we’re here I am FREAKING OBSESSEd with that bit in Crooked Kingdom when Haskell has the fake gaudy cane to mock Kaz and he holds them both side by side omgggggggggggg the symbolism is so loud I’m so obsessed but anyway I’ve gotten sidetracked

Kaz is addicted to vengeance and burning is every going to be enough to quell the fire or the need Kaz would literally not have survived without the hope of vengeance but it has begun to actively eat at him and it’s almost sad to see but also in a fascinating way we still want him to keep seeking revenge??? Like he deserves to achieve his vengeance but even though the reader knows he is never going to be fulfilled by it they still want to see him try?? It’s a very strange thing to have running parallel to the encouragement the reader feels towards pulling Jesper and Nina away from their respective vices whilst we actively root for Kaz to follow the path of his and I think it kind of speaks to us some kind of acknowledgment that we would be allured the same way he is????

Anyway there is like 99% chance these are nonsense thoughts lmao, I think in done now and I’m tired and still drunk so goodnight y’all

[windwakingwhale]

it’s the last day of july and i’m sad

so today is the last day of july, which means it’s the last day of fan joy july. (of course, im still going to be giving appreciation to everything i enjoy, but still.) i wanted to do more for this month, but time just escaped me. with that said… here’s a list of my top favorite lu fics that i will talk about for hours!! (most of these are sky centric, but i love him soooo…) (also almost all of them have heavy themes and topics so read through the content warnings please!)

This is an Adjuration by NotFreyja - this is a freaking beautiful fic, dare i say masterpiece. it’s a forging the chain type fic, with a compelling story and just read it already.

To Isolate by Polteageist (Poltea) and sky_squiddo - mmmmmmmmm!!!! it’s a mystery, a little on the dark side and has some heavy themes but it’s worth it in the end! also a masterpiece, ngl. read through the warnings though, just in case.

Father of Time by MrsMusica - what if time has a dad? what if said dad was a god? what if i love this fic with all my heart? what if this is a masterpiece too? hmmmmmm? (this is actually one of the first fics i’ve read. like ever. and i do not regret it.)

this year it taught me (lost and ambitious) by qar - hehehe my love. masterpiece. (perfect for sky lovers!)

Breath of the Sky by Skye_the_Lofty_Nutcase - sky and sun meet wild and flora, but it’s pre calamity. drama and hyjinks ensue. overall, it’s a masterpiece.

the faces left behind by skyknights - get ready for a bad time! there’s some heavy topics here so read through the content warnings and stuff. it legit almost made me cry, but it’s okay because it’s a masterpiece. and there’s also a really cool fight scene so it’s worth it.

Unravelling by major_de_speed - sky angst, sky angst, sky angst …sky angst. also some heavy topics, so read through the disclaimers. this is actually the third part of multiple fics so i’d recommend reading the others first. masterpiece.

herd by rebornofstars - funny. so funny. twilight has multiple crises, sky doesn’t help, wind is a wild child, and warriors just wants to sleep. a masterpiece.

Fountain of Youth by myshovelbroke - sky twi and wars have some fun in this masterpiece of a fic. love em.

Violet by FlamingIdiot - oh dear lord the crack goes crazy. it’s so funny, just read this masterpiece and the other five that go with it.

(y’all i don’t know if the links to the fics even work, so uhhhh beware ig.)

anyways, take a chance on some of these fics y’all. if you’re like me, you won’t regret it. anyways i’m gonna go sleep now.

also if y’all know the author’s tumblr usernames i would love it if y’all could share them so i could tag them!

[muniimyg]

OKAYYYYY MY THOUGHTS (I have so many of them)

first of all - this fic is a mf masterpiece

the tension, them being mean to each other and jk being a simp UGH!😩😩😩😩 I want him so bad

the scene where he asks her to feed him and I’m like this man is NAWT shying away and so he is THAT kinda boyfriend like.

and him not going to that function because “his girl” is sick. like I was shy reading this as if he was speaking about me🤣🤣🤣 and the dolphins book he finds - oc was such a cutie for that🥰

and then the scene where they Yk do THAT when he is wearing his glasses I FOLDED. I FOLDED SO BAD CAUSE HE IS SO HOT AND THWIR BED CHEM WAS BED CHEM-ING.

and then the jealousy era like girl why would you push his button like that but also valid cause walk him like a dog sis 😁

And then their talk and finally a man who has communication skills 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 cause real men just cannot🤓 at least the ones I have dealt which. Just like oc only had situationships😁 waiting for my jk now.

and then they started dating and everything is amazing in the world again😪💕

in all - a mf masterpiece like I said ❤️

you have done it once again.

Just a future drabble if you decide to do it - the gangs reaction when they found they are together 🤨🤨 jus a small little idea hehe

Also big props to you for writing this in a fic cause I can imagine how stressful that might have been plus you being sick. hope you are feeling better ❤️

also my take on ranking the kimi verse jk’s - ITS VERY HARD

fuck - bed chem jk (Obviously) but also like c2u jk cause laundry scene was insane 😭

kiss - aao jk or baby daddy jk

marry - baby daddy jk no questions asked

WE DONT KILL c2u jk in DIS HOUSE CAUSE HE IS SUCH A CUTIE 😭😭💕

ok lemme yap with u 🤝

tension/dynamic

i've been absolutely CRAVING to write a tension filled fic where they both want each other but don't know how to have each other. oh my god,,, did this concept absolutely scratch my brain.

i personally had to think for a hot minute abt their banter cos,,, yes, banter is 60% of their chem,,, but the stillness??? between them??? the way they react to each comeback??? how they look at each other or stand or sit too close??? how thick the air feels and how easy it would be to just have them kiss??? oh !!!! i really had to sit in their moment and intensify their feelings

the tension between them was slow with a sense of pressure... ugh. i really wanted to emphasize that their situation was easy. no one was stopping them from being together... but instead,, it was the pure fun of it that complicated things for each other. their dynamic is established since part 1. it's too easy to show the sudden change and honestly? unrealistic.

real tension,, real friends to lovers,,, is slow. awkward. it's this weird sense of uncertainty but also knowing and believing in them.

further, subtle things were so purposeful in each chapter imo. when i write fics,, i take a moment to think abut what each character has to offer the other/their specific traits. (my uni/college au's for example) deeper than what major i give them,, i think about their attitude and how it ties to to their little things.

for bed chem,, jk as a chem major was like a lightbulb moment for me because 1) it fit the title 2) it made it easier for me to write him as a grumpy nerd 3) it practically paints the picture of what kind of guy he is by all by itself... like, all i really needed to do was be specific with word choice and body language. being a part of the marine conservation club was like a hehe haha thing but also showcased his softer side (caring for the world and wanting to make change,,, etc).

meanwhile, oc majors in psych and she's kind of reckless. she's constantly tripping over her own feet and is unhinged for most for their banter... but she's intentful. she's good at talking around her feelings and her actions,, but she's even better at sticking to what she wants.

part 5 behaviour

because at this point,, they're together but not together,, jungkook tests the boundaries. they have a lot of unspoken rules so he does all he can to break them. oc,, doesn't really do much to stop him and i found it really important to decrease/limit her doubts because 1) the tutor thing wasn't really meant to be this whole trust issue thing 2) they have a lot of security in each other 3) the scenes where he skips the gala,, shows up when she has food poisoning,, when she had a hard day and he comes over to check on her ... it all shows the kind of friend he is and oc feels safe and secure in the man he is and how good he is to her

smut

ok i was realy nervous about this because 1) i was sick as a fucking dog writing the scene 2) i didn't want to disappoint 3) it had to live up to thefic title.

sometimes, i think i have to write these really wild scenes with position switching and insane dirty talk,, but because oc is a virgin... i thought it would be more fun to show her increasing interest to be intimate with him. the dry humping scene was HILIARIOUS to me. i thought it was a funny way of her exploring how fast jungkook would fold and the glasses part... yeah. i really like the way it led to their moment lol.

the actual sex scene i think turned out really cute. they have this... intense yet intimate energy between them. jk taking the lead but oc also knowing what she wants? the way they fuck and kind of just get lost in holding each other... the kissing narration?? learning her?? yeah. that tickled my brain. love the way oc has this playfulness during the entire thing,, meanwhile jungkook was losing his mind seeing her tits.

jealousy/communication

what's a kimi fic without her collateral damage hottie of the month ? first it was eunwoo/dex for c2u, mingyu for aao, and now it's dohwan for bed chem LOL. i think adding this and specifically my choice in who is coming in to play brings this relevancy into my fics that readers are able to laugh and relate to. brings connection yk!!

dohwan was so harmless ahahhaa. ngl, i think oc hearing jk fuck someone was like a "uh... omg. yikes.. i think i'm kinda jealous rn lol" moment but jk seeing a hickey on oc + being in a complicated state with her was a very "i want to die and i want you in the front row so you can see how much u hurt me and then i want u to cry over me,, only for me to beg god in the afterlife for another chance to live so i can comfort you" moment for him.

their communication/banter was such a big part of this fic. i think the plainness of their words held so much significance that after each line,, it felt like their tension would shift. again, specific word choice was really important. their banter and ongoing walking around their feelings was essential in keeping them (and readers) on their toes. their original ending was supposed to be this vague realization that they wanted to be together and the irony was that i wasn't supposed to write their smut scene and leave it as this tension filled open-ended fic,, but i'm glad i did what i did and gave them a definite ending.

some key lines i put into oc's dialogue was

"think i can do it? get you to want me?" to "i don't know how to have you" and finally; "i want you" was veryyyyyyy... premeditated. it gave this storyline through 3 lines and i really liked thatttt

the pavlov thing was funny as fuck cos again,, she's a psych major LOL. and the woof woof thing LOLLOLOL. very kimi core crackhead vibes

kiss, marry, fuck,, and kill;

you're so real and so funny for that HAHAHAA. protecting c2u jk fr cos that kid went thru so much chasing after c2u oc LOL

extra/ending note;

i'll think abt the extra!! i don't really think they have much left in terms of plot cos everything is basically all done... the friendgroup def knew smt was up but never said anything cos they mind their own business. i think it's pretty obvious as they 1) always sent oc to jk's room 2) teased them a lot 3) scolded them a lot esp taehyung

anyways,, u are literally the sweetest !!! i love receiving asks like this. i was afraid that ch5 would be too long and because there were so many scenes,, i felt like the significance of each one would be mushed up into one entire review/outcome. thank u for going into detail !!! i know a few readers say they read every word i write ,, so it's very rewarding to hear your thoughts with each scene and letting me yap from a writers/creative perspective

currently still recovering from being sick ,, finishing up my winter sem at school + preparing holiday related events for my preschool LOL. bed chem was so fun to write and i'm so incredibly blown away from the amount of love and support it has received in the past since i posted it. like... 1.7k already?? almost 1k on avg with each part?? uhhh... what the heck !!!

all in all,, i'm glad it fed everyones delulu mind. glad to know we're all ovulating together <3

i can't wait to share more fics with you all in 2025 😽💓

mwahh

kimi

[booksandabeer]

Stucky, Fandom Longevity, and "Primacy Bias"

There’s this post that's been floating around the past few days about how the Stucky fandom in its heyday produced fic and art masterpieces like they were all collectively possessed by an unprecedented spirit of creative insanity. It’s a good, fun post and I agree with the person who wrote it. (not rb'ing because I didn't want to hijack their post with something that's only tangentially related).

It was indeed a magical time and the creative output in both quantity and quality in the two-year period following the release of CA:TWS is—with perhaps a few exceptions—unmatched by anything that I’ve seen before and since. However, going through the notes on that post, I noticed something that left me a little irritated and quite frankly sad since it is in congruence with, and to a certain extent the confirmation of something that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

For one thing, there are so many people in the notes expressing sentiments along the lines of “it was such a wonderful time; I wish I could go back; I miss these fics; I want to read these fics again,” etc., etc., you get it. And it feels a little silly pointing this out, but…you can just do that? Almost all of these fics are still right there, waiting for you to be (re)read. Yes, a lot of people left the fandom after The Great Devastation of 2019, but their stories didn’t just disappear. It's not like there is now a big, black hole where the Steve/Bucky tag used to be on AO3. So, if you miss these fics and you want to revisit them—just do it. Chances are the authors will be delighted that people are still finding and enjoying their stories all these years later. And—since apparently this needs saying, too, judging from the notes on that post: A lot of people seem to be very concerned with losing ‘coolness points’ for openly admitting that they still miss the ship and often feel tempted to dip their toes back into the Stucky pool. I don’t know how to tell you this, but if someone tries to shame you for simply enjoying or missing something, they are an asshole. Not to mention that all this is happening on tumble.com—'coolness' doesn't exactly live here. And that is a good thing, to be clear. Fandom is not about being cool. It’s about being as enthusiastic, as silly, as absolutely fucking unhinged about the things you love as you want to be. So, stop caring what other people think and enjoy yourself.

The other thing is that there seems to be a pretty widespread misconception that the Stucky fandom hasn’t produced any good fanworks after 2016.

First, that is patently and demonstrably untrue. There is so much incredibly good fanfiction and fanart still out there. Not as much as back in the day, sure, but it still exists. And more is being posted every day! Even some of the OG Big Names are still around. One of the most beloved Stucky series that started all the way back in 2014 was updated as recently as December of last year. The artist, who I believe the op is referring to as creating ‘baroque’ paintings, posted their latest Stucky art not even two months ago.

Second, I find this “primacy bias” more than just a little insulting to the many hardworking and incredibly talented people who are still putting their blood, sweat, and tears into creating for this community. And it’s one thing if people who have long left the fandom believe or say something like this, but it’s frankly irritating when I see people who are still very much active—and therefore definitely should know better—feed into that same false myth. Yes, it sucks that the Stucky ship isn’t as big as it used to be, but that doesn't mean there isn't any 'fresh talent' to be found anymore. I’m also not saying we shouldn’t still celebrate and recommend older works—I do it all the time! And it sure as hell doesn't mean everyone has to reblog absolutely everything all the time, either. Your blog, your rules.

But maybe we should put a little more focus on the good things, on the creators and the community we have now, especially if we want that community to still exist in another ten years. I mean, imagine you’re a person who’s just gotten into the fandom (because yes, there are indeed still new people discovering Stucky all the time) and one of the first things you’re being told is “eh, nice that you're here, but you’re about 7 years late; the big party is already over.” Does that seem like a fun space to hang out in to you?

So. Let’s all—and I do not exclude myself from this because God knows, I love to complain—spend a little less time mourning the ‘good old days’ that are never coming back anyway, and instead focus our attention on enjoying and appreciating both the incredible treasure chest of an archive we have AND the wealth of high-quality art and fic that is still being created by this wonderful community every single day. With this in mind:

🥳🎊Happy Stucky Week 2023!!! 🎊🥳

*I want to make it very clear that this is a general thing that’s been on my mind lately and that I’m trying to work through here—probably not very coherently. I'm not trying to tell anybody 'how to do fandom' and I’m most definitely not vagueposting about any particular incident, person, or group in this fandom. This isn’t a callout post. It’s an I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this and I don’t know what else do with them post.

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  @gayjinkies! gayjinkies has 7 fics posted on AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @Gayjinkies:

I’m a lover, boy

lover, you can’t be wrong

heartbeat (increasing heartbeat)

any solitary pleasure

Are You Sending Out Your Love Signs?

"Their writing is absolutely masterpiece. I LOVE their characterisation of Steddie!" -- Anonymous

Below the cut, @gayjinkies answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I started reading Steddie during a really weird and stressful time in my life. I’d be reading literally the entire night through for months on end. Reading about these dumbass boys was one of the only ways to escape for a while. When my day-to-day chilled out a bit, I figured I may as well give writing a go, since I’d read, I swear to god, hundreds of fics by that point. I immediately fell in love with thinking up the most idiotic, goofy situations to plop Steve and Eddie into. I’m also a sucker for enemies-to-lovers dialogue and the possibilities are endless with these two. There’s so much potential chemistry and tension and canonically unexplored backstories which makes it so much fun to write!

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I don’t think I have an all-time favourite! One of my favourites is friends-to-enemies-to-lovers because ohhh the layers…the betrayal…the yearning… I also love reading hidden identity fics, I eat them up so damn quick. And then the usual suspects: forced proximity, miscommunication, requited-unrequited, fake dating, only one bed. Honestly I could list so many that I love with my entire heart.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

I’m not sure if Crack counts as a trope?? If so, then that for sure. The more absurd the better, in my book. I love taking the most ridiculous situation I can think of and trying to write it believably enough that readers could think, “huh, yeah, I can see this happening. This makes sense for these two.” Apart from that, I love writing miscommunication. It’s so much FUN, and as I’m typing it I’ll be shaking my head, clicking my tongue, muttering, “if only you guys just talked…” and then not allowing them to properly talk for another 10k words.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

This is such an impossible question, there’s no way I could pick just one out of so many absolute bangers 🤚 blipblot’s A Lick and a Promise is phenomenal and I’ll shout it from the rooftops (I’ll shout about literally all of their fics from the rooftops, they’re just so spectacular) I’m reading Big Talk by occasional_loverboy which is SO FUCKING GOOD. let’s exchange the experience by jamiethegardener is an absolute favourite. Vulture by GriefAbyss is currently and very actively consuming my thoughts. throw me one by Adure is one of the first Steddie fics I fell in love with right at the start and it’s one of my all-time favourites.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Ohhhhh so many. I would love to write a secret identity fic and a fake dating fic, and I’ve got ideas bouncing around my head for both of those. They’ll get written eventually!! I also haven’t really written slow burn yet because I love instant gratification with ensuing angst and drama, but I would love to try my hand at it!

What is your writing process like?

Controversial, maybe! I can’t write any scene without having written the scene before, everything is written sequentially. I don’t plan or draft at all, so scenes just develop as I’m writing, which makes it impossible to jump ahead in the plot and write because the story changes every time I sit down to write more. It also means that if I get stuck on one particular scene, the entire fic grinds to a screeching halt until I figure a single line of dialogue out 🫠 So it’s slow going a lot of the time! I also don’t really edit apart from checking my spelling and grammar, so not much is left on the cutting room floor! Also, I only write while blasting pink noise through my headphones. I sometimes have music playing in the same room but the pink noise stays on the entire time. 

Do you have any writing quirks?

I’m not sure!!! Probably using way too many em dashes, which I say hesitantly for fear of people reading my shit and noticing my overuse 😬 I also recycle specific phrases all the time, which are usually ones that I use in my day-to-day as well. They just seem to snake their way into each and every fic.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

I’ve discovered that I really do need to have finished writing before starting to post, otherwise there’s a chance it won’t be updated for months as my focus jumps to other projects.

Which fic are you most proud of?

I’m really proud of set my wings on fire. It was my quickest turnaround time from idea conception to finished product, and it’s also the only fic I’ve written that’s just one scene. I also experimented more with structure and writing style with that one. It’s the most love I’ve ever put into a fic and the most fun I’ve had writing so it’s very special to me.

How did you get the idea for any solitary pleasure?

Ahhh, my stink kink fic. Not to put my friend on blast, but they were chatting with me about a guy they’d hooked up with who had a cologne collection totalling over $10,000. When I asked my friend if the guy smelled good, they replied that they didn’t really know, they prefer natural musk and sweat over fancy colognes. I heard that, immediately thought, “sounds like a certain someone…” and knew I had to thrust a scent kink upon Eddie.

When writing heartbeat (increasing heartbeat), what was something you didn’t expect?

I didn’t expect how difficult it would be to orchestrate a phone sex scene! I think dirty talk is one of my weaker areas in writing, so not being able to fall back on action descriptions when it came to Steve and Eddie’s interactions was hard. I’m a big fan of non-verbal communication and not having that as an option was definitely challenging.

What inspired I’m a lover, boy?

I don’t think there was any particular inspiration! The plot for I’m a lover, boy literally popped into my head fully formed one day, and I spent a bit of time just kicking it around before writing it all down.

What was your favorite part to write from lover, you can’t be wrong?

I love writing Steve & Robin scenes, and lover, you can’t be wrong is riddled with them. I’d never written anything from Steve’s POV before and exploring their friendship has been so lovely. Their conversations flow and I love that for both them and me.

How do/did you feel writing Are You Sending Out Your Love Signs??

Are You Sending Out Your Love Signs was the first Steddie fic I wrote, after having not written creatively for years. It was written after a solid few months of sleep-deprivation and stress and I don’t really remember much about how I felt while writing it! I think for a while I was very sure I was never going to post it, so I didn’t care about whether it was actually quality writing or not, which was freeing!! It was a good stepping stone to getting back into writing because it was a zero-pressure experience.

What was the most difficult part of writing Are You Sending Out Your Love Signs??

Probably literally just starting it!! I hadn’t written creatively since high school, and I hadn’t really been good at it then, so I was 100% convinced I wouldn’t be able to do it. Most of my experience is in writing research studies, so it was hard to push past that and embrace flowery, fun fiction writing.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

In my most recent fic, call my bluff when I roll the dice, there’s a scene where Eddie accidentally humiliates Steve regarding the size of his dick, and I had SO much fun writing it. The entire fic was built around that scene that I’d had in my head for ages. I love writing emotionally-driven dialogue and also Very Silly dialogue, so that was such a fun one to write.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I have a bunch of WIPs and even more ideas that haven’t been put on paper yet! I’ve got a long-form fic half written that I’m very excited about which I refuse to start posting until I’ve finished it, but it’s in the works! I’ve also got a third of a gloryhole fic written which I’m also keen to finish and post. Apart from them, I’ve got a bunch of crack ideas that I’m very sure will be posted in the near future!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

I wanted to thank steddieunderdogfics for everything that you do 💖 big love to you guys!!!

Thank you to our author, @gayjinkies, and our nominator! See more of gayjinkies' works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[cinnajun]

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: cooking with zb1

a/n: i’m not the greatest cook myself so apologies if some of this is terribly misinformed, but i can bake okay (during quarantine i’d bake when in class sooo)

notes: yujin is not included due to his age!

wc | 1.4k

jiwoong is a monster when it comes to cooking, but NOT baking. give this man a grill and a slab of meat and you have a masterpiece, but give him a mixing bowl and a recipe and he’s clueless. as such, assuming you’re a good baker, you and jiwoong are the perfect summer barbecue couple, and the ideal dinner party couple. but, i think the real fun is when you make jiwoong bake with you—you offer as much help as you can, but let him take the wheel. he can make it through brownies and cookies, but his weakness is bread—he doesn’t like how long he has to wait. he also doesn’t understand why he has to punch the dough???? i also think he doesn’t understand why you need to make it yourself when you can just go to the store…and when you say you can buy cookies at the store too, he says it’s “different.” okay then!

zhang hao is a princess and therefore does not cook or bake. and, when he does, it is a meal only HIS taste buds enjoy…my reference is whatever he was doing in camp zb1 with that soup. the nice thing is that he loves whatever you make, no matter what it is. you could put slop in front of him and, as long as it was constructed by you, he would eat the entire bowl. hao feels very loved when you cook him a meal or bake him a little treat, especially when he comes home to it. there’s no better feeling (in his opinion) than opening the front door and immediately smelling a batch of cookies cooling on the kitchen counter. because he’s far from home, i think hao will feel especially warm when he comes home to you making any sort of food he had often back home—so perhaps give his mom a call and ask for some recipes.

sung hanbin can’t cook very well, but can bake okay! perhaps you’ll be gifted some cold toast from time to time, but at least it comes with the opportunity to look at his face. but, if you ask hanbin for a fun drink … THAT is a different story. sung hanbin is the god of fun drinks, so if you’re a beverage person, he’s the exact right guy for you to date. he has a million fancy drink tools in his kitchen (an espresso machine, a high-tech blender that costs an arm and a leg, etc) and can make you anything you want. he also can make a MEAN shirley temple, which is an essential quality in a person. hanbin’s absolute favorite thing to do though is have you bake some fun dessert that he can make the perfect drink to pair it with—whether it be bitter coffee or a sweet smoothie, it brings him a lot of joy. it also brings him a lot of joy to enjoy both of the creations with you while you tell him all about how your week went.

matthew can do everything in the kitchen. say what you will, but MAN, matthew can make a MEAL. i mean the fries he made on camp zb1 looked so delicious and he straight-up did that himself. i think your favorite pastime in a relationship with matthew is watching him cook because he will roll up his sleeves and chop away at whatever he’s making, making the muscles come out. especially if he’s dealing with anything that might be sort of tough, and he often is because he likes to show off—if you ask him to make you an apple pie, he will rip the apples in half in front of you. i also think he likes to narrate what he’s doing like he’s on a cooking show, and will proceed to tell you that there’s going to be a test on what he taught the next day. matthew loves cooking for you, so make sure you let him know that you love what he cooks with a kiss on the cheek and a big “thank you” :)

taerae is decently good at both. he’s not exactly the best cook or the number one baker, but he knows enough to make some good food. i think he’d prefer cooking/baking with you rather than by himself, and you pretty much do, too. one of you will pick a recipe and assign tasks to the other, whether it be chopping up a carrot or grating some cheese. sometimes, he’ll jokingly pretend like he’s gordon ramsey and sarcastically joke about how “bad” you are at skinning the potato, and other times he will shout these bizarre “you’re doing great!” messages while he’s trying not to burn himself taking something out of the oven. then, when you’re close to finishing the food, you’ll sometimes throw together an easy dessert, like brownies or mug cakes, which will be done right as you finish eating. together, the two of you can make pretty good meals!

ricky is solidly okay at cooking, and not as okay at baking. i don’t think it’s intrinsic to him, though, he just never really tried to teach himself how to do either. he can boil water and make himself instant noodles, but he’s not crafting a perfectly cooked salmon over the most delicious rice you’ve ever had. there are other things ricky would instead dedicate himself to, like dancing or upgrading his wardrobe, so he’s never tried to upgrade his cooking skills. in fact, he’s kind of glad he never did, because now he can force you to teach him all that he wants to know. he basks in the light of your complete attention as you help him peel a potato, your hands over his as you drag the peeler across the vegetable. then, when you finish the meal, he revels in your praise as you compliment his “newfound skills” in pasta making. just make sure not to tell him you know what he’s doing.

i think gyuvin would be good at both!! judging by his snack bag, he cares a lot about yummy food and thus can carry himself in the kitchen. although, i think he’d be a lot better at baking than cooking. it’s just easier to follow a recipe to a t, and once you teach yourself how to gauge whether or not something is over-mixed, it’s smooth sailing from there. from soft and custardy lemon bars to hard-headed creme brulee, gyuvin loves gifting you with little sweet treats every week. when you were in high school, he’d bake you a treat and give it to you every friday, loving how your eyes would light up at the sight of his mom’s purple tupperware. in particular, i think gyuvin would be a good cake baker, and he absolutely goes all out for your birthday. flowers crafted with icing, any flavor your heart desires, and the most beautiful array of candles he could find—it makes you happier than you can describe. and then he gets you a super lame gift because he spent all his money on cake supplies lol

gunwook is a cook, but decidedly not a baker. his specialties happen to be any sort of stir fry and really good instant noodles, and his weaknesses are anything that requires him to stick a knife in to check if it’s done. he refuses to learn how to bake, too, because the idea that he isn’t immediately good at something terrifies him to the core and makes him feel a little sick to his stomach. the thing is, though, you don’t even know gunwook is a terrible baker for at least a year of your relationship. you automatically assume he can bake yummy cookies just from how delicious the meals he makes for you are. so, when you ask him to make you cookies and he says no almost instantly, you’re absolutely shocked—and then he lets it slip that he can’t bake for the life of him. you then learn that he hates it when you bring it up, so you stay quiet and let him sulk on his own, enjoying the taste of his yummy pork stir fry.

thank you for reading !

tags: @happysmileybee @wtfhyuck

[blackbullet99]

Am I the only one who genuinely loves The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl?

Like, I know a lot of people don’t think highly of the movie, and it didn’t do very well. But I genuinely enjoy this movie. I mean the movie is kinda goofy and ridiculous, but that’s kinda the point and all the over the top acting, PS2 CGI and all around cheesiness give the movie a certain charm to it, making it genuinely fun and enjoyable to watch. George Lopez as Mr. Electric and Jacob Davich as Linus are just hilarious to watch, they knew exactly what type of movie this was and didn’t hold back. I mean who could forget this masterpiece of acting.

Both lead actors Taylor Launter and Taylor Dooley (the Taylors as I’m gonna call them) also do a genuinely great job portraying the characters.

Taylor Launter (A.K.A. Jacob from Twilight) really goes ham on this film, it’s really over the top (to the point of literally chewing the scenery) but it’s a really enjoyable over the top performance, if you know what I mean and he has a good range of emotion in this, if that makes sense. Also this song will always be a banger!

Additionally Taylor Dooley’s performance is also a good one. There’s a certain wholesomeness to her.

It’s much more calm and reserved than Launter’s, but I kinda like that, it helps the two to balance each other out, and is also a neat subversion of the fire character being hot tempered and the water character being calm. I also like how her calmness contrasts with her destructive power and her arc of finding a productive use for them. It’s nothing groundbreaking or nothing, but the movie has a good amount of set ups and pay-offs.

But all in all, I think this movie works so well is because it’s literally based on the dreams that a child had. Robert Rodriguez essentially based the film on the dreams of his son Racer Max Rodriguez, and the movie genuinely feels like a dream a child would have, and I mean that in a good way. It explains why everything is so bright and over the top, why everything looks unreal and animated, even a lot of the dialogue was literally written by a child. Some might find this a bad thing, but I don’t know, I myself find this endearing, like looking into the mind of a child, it makes the movie feel like a passion project and it is.

Just check out the behind the scenes video about the making of the movie, as I said before, there’s a certain wholesomeness in the film, and that combined with how entertaining the over the top ridiculousness of everything makes this one of my favorite movies of all time.

And with that statement I’m ready to lose whatever credibility I may have, but I don’t care.

Sharkboy and Lavagirl FOREVER!

[theheathenousfish]

professor Neil doing things for his husband because I said so (also Neil getting flustered)

it’s November 4, Andrew’s birthday. Aaron’s to Neil thinks. However he’s not married to Aaron therefore he doesn’t care. Anyway, it’s currently 5am and Neil is making Andrew breakfast. Chocolate French toast with mint chocolate ice cream and turmeric honey tea (because coffee early in the morning hurts his tummy). Neil had just finished his culinary masterpiece when Andrew walks into the kitchen and wraps his arms around Neil’s waist. “Hello sweetheart , happy birthday.” Neil whispers. Andrew absolutely does not melt when he gets called sweetheart. He doesn’t. “Mmph” is Andrew’s response. “How does it feel to be 30?” Neil asks “fucking awful. Statistically I’ve walked past 13 murderers so far” “poor baby” “not your baby” “ no, I’m yours” Neil grins “shut up junkie” andrew grabs the sides of Neil’s head and tilts it back and kisses the top of it and goes to eat his birthday breakfast.

Andrew is making his class watch Voltron because it’s his birthday and he’s the professor. After a couple of episodes he pauses it and asks for opinions and observations about the characters. Once a couple of students have spoken he resumes the show. Andrew is trying his hardest not to smile. He fuckin loves voltron.

around 1pm Neil decided to go to Andrew’s favourite cafe and get him some lunch. He choses a strawberry whip cream croissant, chicken Cesar salad, and a butterscotch apple latte. Neil loves his husband, but he can’t let Andrew live on sugar; hence the chicken Cesar salad.

The curtain of Andrew’s classroom door wasn’t closed so Neil could see Andrew’s projector screen from where he was standing. “Oh my god. He’s making them watch Voltron” Neil laughs

Neil opens the door just as an episode is ending “ hey, drew. I brought you lunch.” “What is it?” Andrew questions. Neil grins “take a look. I think you’ll like it” “ just because Its my birthday doesn’t mean you have to feed me” Andrew states. Neil looks aghast at that “you don’t let me help with cooking, when else can I feed you” Neil complains. “ITS YOUR BIRTHDAY?!” A student screeches. “Yes. Why do you think we’re watching Voltron?” Andrew replies.

Andrew turns to Neil and raises his eyebrow looking over his glasses “anything else junkie?”

Andrew has “hot professor” glasses according to Neil. They are black, roundish square half frames with silver accents. Neil thinks they are dead sexy

“No. Nope. Nothing else. Everything is fine. I have to go.” Neil stumbles over his words. “Hmm. Are you sure?” Andrew drawls, a slight smirk on his face. “ yup. I’m good. I’ll leave now.”

Neil pulls out his phone and opens Alison’s contact “ally,I need help. Andrew is trying to kill me.” “Good god Neil. What the hell did he do?” Alison sounds like she’s trying not to laugh “he did the glasses thing! And he flirted as he did it!” Neil whines. “Oh buddy, You’re so fucked. Have fun getting dicked down tonight!” Then she hangs up. Neil looks at his phone “well shit.”

at home, Neil is reading in bed even though it’s only 6ish. Andrew walks into the bedroom an hour later and pins Neil with a very familiar look.

2.5 hours later Andrew says “thank you for today.” “Of course, love”

they fall asleep and ignore the texts from Aaron

[emmyinjapan]

Tobiume, Ogori

From the moment I stepped into Tobiume, I was utterly captivated. This place isn’t just a venue—it’s a perfectly preserved slice of Japan’s cultural heritage, wrapped up in elegance and tranquillity. If you’re looking for a setting that seamlessly blends tradition with charm, look no further. Whether it’s for an event, a cultural deep dive, or just an excuse to escape the chaos of everyday life, Tobiume delivers in spades.

One of the real gems of this place is its dedication to keeping Japanese traditions alive. I was absolutely thrilled to discover that they offer soba-making classes. I mean, how often do you get the chance to wrestle with buckwheat flour and attempt to roll out noodles that don’t resemble a pile of twigs? It’s hands-on, it’s fun, and it gives you a whole new appreciation for the art of soba-making (and for the professionals who do it without getting flour in their hair).

The house itself is nothing short of breathtaking. Every inch of it has been meticulously designed, from the soft, inviting tatami mats underfoot to the delicate sliding doors that open up to a view so stunning it should come with a warning: May cause an uncontrollable urge to stare dreamily into the distance. No matter the season, the garden is a masterpiece—lush and vibrant in spring, fiery and dramatic in autumn, and peacefully dusted with snow in winter. It’s the kind of view that makes you forget about emails, deadlines, and that pile of washing-up you left at home.

And let’s talk about the food—because, of course, there’s food! Tobiume serves up dishes made from locally sourced ingredients, ensuring that everything is fresh, flavourful, and completely delicious. But the real star of the show? The owner. Without a doubt, one of the funniest and most welcoming people I’ve ever met. He proudly told us that he’s great at making desserts, particularly cheesecake—though, given how much he joked around, I’m still not entirely sure if that was a boast or a challenge. Even more amusingly, despite brewing his own sake, he doesn’t actually drink! Honestly, this man could have his own comedy show.

That said, if there’s one tiny thing I wish they had, it’s a bath. Tobiume would make the most perfect ryokan, and I can only imagine how magical it would be to stay overnight in such a beautiful, traditional setting. Waking up to the peaceful surroundings, enjoying a warm cup of tea with that stunning garden view—it would be the ultimate experience. Alas, no bath means no official ryokan status, but it’s still an incredible venue for gatherings, cultural experiences, or simply unwinding in an atmosphere straight out of a dream.

Oh, and did I mention it’s only a 10-minute drive from Ogori Station? That’s dangerously close. Too close. I may have to start making excuses to return.

In short: Tobiume is a must-visit. Go for the atmosphere, stay for the experience, and leave wishing you could move in permanently!

—Emmy

[the-mspfa-200-favourites-project]

SBURB.EXE

SBURB.EXE is the big one of the year, and what a big one for the year to have. SBURB.EXE is a masterclass in how to write a SBURBventure, and how to do it in a crowdpleasing way.

First off, Veri knows his stuff. This is a webcomic written by somebody who is passionate about the early parts of Homestuck and knows exactly how they tick and how they are paced. This is by a master of the format. This is by somebody who knows that meters make everything better, the more complicated and characterizing the modus the better, and character designs should be iconic and not like, fashionable or whatever. It’s somebody who knows the rules and knows how to break them for peak comedy.

But it’s not just bread and butter SBURBventure action, though it does get the This is by somebody who also really likes Creepypasta and wants to add THAT flavour onto it, giving it that little extra spice. Maybe…too much spice? Going to stop my flowing praise here and say that, atleast for me, I don’t especially like the Jumpscares in the comic? Still, at least it warns you on the first page that Jumpscares *are* coming (unlike a certain Reddit-based SBURBventure…grumble grumble mumble…). And, if you basically mute your computer when you view every upd8, you should be able to get through them just fine. And yes, I know *why* there are jumpscares, but still. Wish they weren’t there. That’s all I’m saying.

Anyways, where was I in recommending/reviewing/selling people on this comic? Oh right, the characterization. The characterization is SO GOOD. Every single character is an archetype of a type of person that you would be able to see on the internet back in 2012 (which is when the comic takes place). And it’s not just that the characters have good dynamics and bounce off each other, but it’s also that each character has like. An arc? To go through? Like, there’s depth there, it’s not just “haha wacky fun times with the Creepy Girl who likes Creepypasta.” NO. That Creepypasta interest seems to stem from a desire to be seen as more “mature” than maybe Abby actually is, and that drives much of her actions throughout the narrative and ultimately is why the session goes off the rails the way it does (or at least, this is implied to be the cause). Kiki is also “what is Nepeta was a main character” core and I mean that in the best possible way. There’s just so many iconic characters from this comic it’s insane. Vast Error who? Wait no actually Vast Error’s still good at characterization even if SBURB.EXE exists, and they can (and should) co-exist because they are both doing very different things.

ANYWAYS. Is that it? Did I go over everything? Masterclass, not just bread and butter, Jumpscare warnings, Characterization, comedy and humor, funniest MSPFA doing it today, your favourite MSPFA author’s favourite SBURBVENTURE…I think that’s everything! Oh, right, the music also slaps so hard, but honestly that pretty much applies to literally any MSPFA with like, a soundteam? Just in general, Music is good, I think. Also, I can’t think of a way to end this review, besides just saying GO OUT AND READ THIS MASTERPIECE.

[simplyholl]

Although I was a constant lurker for months, today marks my one year as a Loki writer. It has been so fun whoring out with all of you. There have been too many laughs to count. By some miracle, I’ve reached a little over 1,000 followers. I’m shook that so many of you are interested in partaking in my wildest fantasies. But I am so thankful for all of you. If you have read, liked, commented, or reblogged anything - thank you from the bottom of my heart! I love reading every wild thing you have to say about these scenes I’ve created.

Sometimes I will just sit there and read your comments over and over in complete shock that my words would elicit such responses. I am so thankful for our little corner of the internet where we can unashamedly be ourselves. We all have different backgrounds, cultures, and lives but we can all agree we just want our favorite god to dick us down.

I’ve made lifelong friends from doing this, and I would’ve never met them otherwise.

@lokisgoodgirl Thank you for giving me the kick in the cooch I needed to start posting my writing. I would have none of this, if it wasn’t for you. Your words of encouragement mean everything to me. Thank you for being my tech expert for the first little bit. I would never give anyone else my login info. You’ve helped me get through some of the toughest times of my life and I am forever grateful for your friendship. I love listening to your voice notes. Your “Good morning” always puts a smile on my face. I hope we can meet in person one day, although I can’t promise that I would keep my hands to myself. I love you endlessly.

@wheredafandomat I only met you at the end of January, but it feels like I have known you my whole life. Is it possible for two people to share the same brain? Because I’m sure that we do. You can make a 2 hour phone call feel like 5 minutes. I’m lucky to have you in my life. My frequent collaborator and birthday twin - I love you so much.

I couldn’t think of a celebration that I wanted to do, but I wanted to share some of my favorite comments over the course of my time on here.

#burdened with a glorious manhood

-@coldnique

The threat to use his vibranium hand to do the choking was just the cherry on top of my death day cake. This is a filthy masterpiece

- @joyful-enchantress

Well spank me sideways, this went from O-deranged in 2.5 seconds AND I'M NOT MAD ABOUT IT

- @thedistractedagglomeration

Ohhhhhh he talks her out of her hero panties and in to his heart

- @cakesandtom

"sit on his face darling" l'm not gonna survive another paragraph I swear to god.this is too much in the best way

- @lokisgoodgirl

The thought of being an avenger and having Loki fuck you senseless is stupid hot, but add into it him talking about making you carry his secret sex baby and still be an avenger is 🔥🔥🔥

- @itsybitchylittlewitchy

Take that you little shit! I am so glad he saw them together and still mounted at that!

- @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed

I mean it's a fitting description after all the devil is tempting and so is Lokis dick

- @fictive-sl0th

You had me at President Loki and biting!

- @marygoddessofmischief

should have really realized that it was you, my dear, who wrote this!

- @smolvenger

I don't need legs, l'll just drag myself around.

- @goblingirlsarah

Spelling his....spelling his name.. ☠️☠️

- @lokisgoodgirl

absolute genius. i read the part about considering staying with him even if just for the sex and i was like "YOU GO Y/N GO GET THAT MULTIVERSAL ASGARDIAN DICK"

- @muddyorbsblr

Yeah Narfi you little bitch. Take that!

- @wheredafandomat

This was so naughty!!! When the vacuum fell and he was like, "fuck it" then continues to pound you harder!!! 🥵🥵🥵

- @mochie85

I neeeed a tall Loki to be my coworker for the job I don't have so he can fuck me in the storage closet

- @wheredafandomat

The best part of waking up is Bucky & Loki in your cup!! WAY better than Folgers.

- @km-ffluv

IT WAS PHENOMENAL. would have tears in my eyes with how proud I am if I wasn't so horny

- @lokisgoodgirl

Just for fun,

If anyone wants to give it a re-read, here’s the first fic I posted.

Snowed In

And this is actually the first thing I wrote

Across the Multiverse

It’s been a great year. I can’t wait to share more horny, unhinged, wild fantasies with you in the next one.

All my love,

-Holly 💚🖤

[dreamchasernina]

you’re so real for that post bc i really feel that some ppl dont get atla at all. Like this show is a masterpiece and you look at the fandom and it’s just a shipping war??? And ppl hating on aang and it’s like. damn. and I feel like the bad netflix remake just exacerbated this feeling bc of how it’s unequivocally worse than the original, yet people defend it as if small changes don’t have huge consequences for the narrative. and yeah i completely see where you’re coming from. This show means a lot to me and it’s weird seeing people treat it like a flash fandom on the week without putting much thought into its themes and characters

Yup, you got it. The discourse is filled with “this character is bad” or “this character should’ve done that” or “this character is weak” and it’s so disheartening. Is this all you took away from this amazing show?

All the character bashing, like Katara or Aang…If all you can say about the main character of the show is how bad they are, why do you even like the show? People say Katara sucks because she’s still traumatized from her mom’s death, or Aang sucks because he’s childish and not aggressive enough. That’s who they are! If you don’t like it, just say it wasn’t for you and move on. Seriously, if I hated the main character so much I would not consider myself a fan of the show (LoK for instance. I’m not a fan of Korra so I don’t like that show but I would also never ever go out of the way to tell everyone how bad Korra is, just let people enjoy things!).

Especially when people feel the need to hate on Aang to make their own ship justified. Like, ship whoever you want, who cares, but why do you need to hate on a character just because he’s not your taste and you want the girl to end up with someone you like more? Just say - Aang is not my cup of tea and I’d like Katara to end up with Zuko. That’s great, have fun. I ship Kataang with all my heart but I love Zuko and you will never ever see me go into a Zutara tag and hate all over their ship…like, get a life people!

But that’s not even the worst I’ve seen in this fandom, people miss character arcs completely, rewrite them to fit their own narratives, focus on all the mistakes those characters made, instead of looking at how those characters learned from them, and it’s just exhausting. I love being a part of a fandom and sharing my thoughts and theories but this is just straight up missing the point of the show completely.

People want to see everything in black and white when the show is the complete opposite of that. People say - Roku didn’t kill his best friend so he’s the worst Avatar. Or Korra lost her past lives so she the worst Avatar. Or Aang is selfish for not killing Ozai so he’s the worst avatar. If you want to watch a show with perfect characters that don’t have any depth, flaws or desires of their own, maybe this isn’t the show for you.

Go watch the Netflix version, I guess, no one has any depth there, you’ll forget all about it in like a month but that’s probably for the best.

[amethystina]

hello :] !! i read ‘who holds the devil’ last month, it came to me when i was having a hard time in my life; when i was in a desperate need to forget everything around and ahead of me…your story did JUST THAT i was so utterly mesmerized and invested in your incredible storytelling and the absolute justice you did to complicated characters such as our yohan and gaon. i’ve read your snippets of yohan’s povs too and i really hope you write them more in the future, it’s so interesting to see his brain work and just how different his understanding of their relationship is…

i haven’t been able to stop thinking about your fic and i’ve already re read it countless times (like i kid you not i wake up every day and check if you’ve updated i’m that down bad) i just wanted to thank you for creating such a masterpiece, you’re a blessing and i hope you’re doing well 🫶🏻 i’m eagerly waiting to see what gaon and yohan has in store for them !!🫶🏻

I'm so sorry to hear that you were having a hard time, but I'm glad that my fic was able to offer you some comfort, at least. Sometimes, it really does help to have something else to focus on when things are rough. I hope things are better now, at least 💜

One of the main reasons why I even started writing this fic was because I realised that I wanted their story to continue but also that I had such a specific idea of how I wanted it to play out — and how I wanted the characters to behave — that the only way for me to get that was to write it myself. And I just love the characters so much that I couldn't help wanting to explore them and their story further, with as much detail and accuracy as possible. We were left with so many possibilities after the end of the drama! And so much trauma to unpack and heal from! I had to see how that would play out ;)

I'm glad you like Yo Han's POV 💜 Unfortunately, I'm not sure how much of his POV I'll write for that particular story since showing his thoughts kind of ruins the suspense of it all. Like, a part of the mystery is that Ga On doesn't know what Yo Han is thinking and, by extension, neither does the reader. Yo Han isn't supposed to be an easy man to read. Also, while Yo Han's POV is a lot of fun for me to write, it also makes me nervous. Because he's a lot of people's favourite character and my interpretation of what his thoughts and actions are like might not align with their ideas. Which is totally fine! We can all have different opinions. But some people can get pretty heated if he's not written in a way they approve of, or if he's portrayed in a way they don't think is flattering enough. So it's just less drama for me if I don't write Yo Han's POV too often xD

But I agree that it's very interesting! He does view their relationship quite differently and, just like Ga On, he has a lot of struggles and things he's feeling insecure about (especially right now considering everything that's happened). His doubts are just not as apparent since we don't see his thoughts. But trust me when I say that he has a lot of thoughts.

I almost feel like I should apologise. I swear I'm not trying to make you all so addicted to this fic, it just seems to happen x'D But I am of course delighted to hear that you're enjoying it! And I'm very grateful that you took the time to tell me. It means a lot 💜

I'm not doing the best, unfortunately, but I'm hanging in there. And I'm hoping to be able to write some on chapter 42 this coming weekend, in between all the household chores I have to get done. We'll see how it goes!

Please take care and thank you so much for the lovely compliments! 💜

[laurafaritos]

The Patron’s Curse: A Short Gothic Tale of Art, Ambition, and a Terrifying Deal

So, I wrote this story, and honestly??? It's wild. Picture this: a struggling artist, broke as hell, makes a deal with this mysterious, too-good-to-be-true patron. He promises her fame, fortune, and everything she’s ever dreamed of. Sounds amazing, right? Except there’s a tiny catch—he’s a freaking soul-sucking vampire who feeds off her art. Like, literally. Every masterpiece drains a piece of her.

It’s got ambition, art, spooky gothic vibes, and, of course, a life-or-death showdown. I swear, it’s like The Picture of Dorian Gray meets Black Swan but with a splash of '¿¿¿wtf is happening???' - I had so much fun writing this, but also… it made me think about ambition and how success can come at a price we don’t realize we’re paying.

Anyway, if you’ve ever felt like chasing your dreams is slowly eating away at your soul (or you just love creepy vibes), this one’s for you. Let me know what you think—click below to read 'The Patron’s Curse.' written by yours truly. And don't forget to follow me!!!

"The Patron's Curse" Short Fiction by Laura Faritos

I’m holding a tube of burnt sienna oil paint, and it feels like it weighs fifty pounds. Or maybe it’s not the paint. Maybe it’s the fact that the credit card I’m about to swipe has already been declined twice this week. The clerk is staring at me like I’m about to steal the paint and make a run for it, and honestly, I might if they keep looking at me like that.

“Just the brushes,” I mutter, sliding the paint back onto the shelf.

Burnt sienna can wait.

Apparently, so can my artistic integrity.

The clerk doesn’t even try to hide their pity as they ring me up. Great. Nothing like being judged by someone whose name tag says “Chad.”

Outside, the wind hits like a slap to the face, and I pull my scarf tighter. The cold always feels worse when you’re broke. My apartment is a ten-minute walk away, but I’m dragging my feet like it’s ten miles. It’s not the distance—it’s what’s waiting for me when I get there. Or, more accurately, what isn’t: inspiration.

Halfway home, I stop at the corner, staring at the cracked sidewalk beneath my boots. The city’s gray and lifeless today, like someone forgot to render the world in HD.

A bus rumbles past, belching exhaust into the cold air, and for a second, I wonder what would happen if I just got on it. Left this place, left everything.

“You can’t keep doing this,” I mutter to myself. By “this,” I don’t just mean painting. I mean the whole mess—scraping by, pretending I’m fine, lying to myself about things getting better.

When I finally get home, the apartment feels colder than the street outside—like even the walls have given up on me. I drop my bag on the counter, brushes rattling like they’re laughing at my life choices. The place smells like old paint and failure.

And then I see it: an envelope.

“What the…”

It’s thick, cream-colored, and sitting dead center on my portfolio, like it owns the place.

I freeze.

No one else has a key.

No one I know, anyway.

“What in the Edward Cullen stalker behavior is this?” I mutter, glancing around. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

Silence. The creepy, “you’re-about-to-get-murdered-in-your-own-home” kind of silence. If someone is here, I’m screwed, because it’s definitely not anyone I know. My landlord wouldn’t bother with theatrics like this; he prefers to barge in unannounced, yelling about rent.

So who…?

I stare at the envelope, unsure if I want to touch it. It practically screams “trap.” What if it’s laced with poison or some kind of James Bond villain nonsense?

No, that’s ridiculous… right?

I mean, who would go to that much trouble for me? I’m nobody. Just Jade: struggling artist, owner of exactly one chair, and wearer of socks with holes.

Unless…

Unless this is something. A sign, maybe. A turning point.

I grab the envelope like it might explode and slide my thumb under the seal. The paper inside is smooth, expensive—completely out of place in my life.

"Jade, I’ve been watching your work. Your talent is undeniable. I’d like to discuss an opportunity that could change your life. Please meet me at the address below at 8 p.m. tonight. Come prepared to share your vision."

No name. No explanation for how they found me. And absolutely no clue how they got inside.

I reread the letter, the unease twisting tighter in my gut. “He.” This has to be a man. No woman in her right mind would break into someone’s apartment just to drop off a mysterious letter, casually reminding me she knows where I live and can let herself in anytime she pleases.

Yeah. No way. This is a man’s kind of unhinged.

The letter’s meant to be a “gift,” I guess. Not a threat. Definitely not a threat.

…Right?

I scrutinize the envelope like I’m auditioning for a detective show, holding it up to the light, flipping it over, even acting like I know how to look for invisible ink. As if I’d have the faintest idea what to do if I actually found some.

Conclusion? Nothing.

No fine print, no secret codes, just an address scrawled in an infuriatingly elegant hand. It’s in the part of town where people sip cocktails that cost more than my monthly rent.

My gut says “don’t go”. My bank account says, “shut up, broke bitch”.

I glance at the clock. 6:45 p.m.

The address is a 30-minute bus ride away. Just enough time to make the absolute worst decision of my life.

“Welp,” I announce to the empty room, grabbing my bag and heading for the mirror.

As I pull on my coat, I catch my own reflection and smirk. “Welcome back to another thrilling episode of ‘Will I Die, Or Will I Pay My Bills? Either Way, I Can’t Afford Food’ so stay tuned for the grand prize reveal!”

The smirk fades as quickly as it came. With a deep breath, I clutch the questionable invitation, step out the door, and silently pray this isn’t my RSVP to murder.

🖤

The mansion is everything I expected and worse.

Tall iron gates.

A winding driveway.

Windows that glint like they’re judging me for showing up in thrift store boots.

It’s the kind of place that screams “money can buy anything except taste.”

I stand at the gate for a moment, my breath fogging in the cold air. This is a bad idea. Scratch that—it’s a terrible idea. The kind of idea that starts with, “This is where they find my body,” and ends with, “She really should’ve stayed home.”

But then I think about my fridge, which currently contains a singular piece of string cheese and a bottle of off-brand ketchup. If this guy wants to murder me, fine—but he’d better make it quick. I’ve got bills to pay.

The gate creaks open like it’s been waiting for me. No one’s there. Because of course. The vibes are already haunted, and I’m not even inside yet.

I hesitate, then step onto the driveway. Gravel crunches under my boots, loud enough to wake the dead—or at least disturb whatever “eccentric billionaire” lives here. The mansion looms closer with every step, its massive front door lit by a single dim light, like some kind of dramatic spotlight.

Before I can knock, the door swings open. Standing in the entryway is a man who looks like he was genetically engineered to make people feel insecure about their life choices. Tall, lean, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. His suit is tailored to within an inch of its life, which is just insulting to anyone who’s ever worn sweatpants to the grocery store.

“Jade,” he says, his voice low and smooth, like we’re old friends. Or maybe old enemies. Hard to tell.

“Yeah,” I manage, gripping my bag like it might save me. “You left me a letter.”

He smiles. It’s not a reassuring smile. It’s the kind of smile that says, “I know where the bodies are buried because I buried them myself.”

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

This is the part where I should run. Instead, I step inside, because apparently, I have the survival instincts of a lemming. The warmth of the house wraps around me like a trap, all cozy and suffocating.

The entryway is cathedral-level massive, with ceilings so high they could probably host their own weather system. The walls are lined with paintings, each one more unsettling than the last. Dark forests. Stormy seas. A woman whose eyes seem to follow me no matter where I stand.

I make a mental note: rich people art is weird.

The man leads me into a sitting room with a fire crackling in a massive stone hearth. The furniture looks like it was stolen from a castle, and I’m half-expecting a butler to pop out of nowhere with a tray of caviar and disappointment.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to an armchair that looks like it costs more than my rent.

I sit, because clearly, I’ve decided to lean into my bad decisions tonight.

He takes the chair across from me, steepling his fingers like he’s auditioning for Evil Billionaires Anonymous. “I’ve been watching your work,” he says, his dark eyes locked on mine. “You have something rare, Jade. A gift.”

“Thanks,” I say, trying not to sound as freaked out as I feel. “But I’m not sure why I’m here.”

He leans forward, the firelight catching on his cheekbones like he’s starring in his own gothic drama. “I want to make you an offer,” he says, his voice as smooth as the silk in his suit. “One that will ensure your art is never overlooked again.”

I should’ve seen it coming. Rich people don’t just hand out opportunities for free—there’s always a catch. A cost. A twist.

And yet, here I am, staring at this man—this stranger—like he’s about to sprinkle some fairy dust on my life and make all my problems go away. Maybe it’s the firelight, or maybe it’s the desperation clawing at my chest, but for a moment, I let myself believe him.

“Let me be clear,” he says, his voice smooth, measured. “What I’m offering isn’t charity. It’s an arrangement.”

There it is.

The catch.

“What kind of arrangement?” I ask, my voice more steady than I feel.

He smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes you want to check your bank account and your pulse. “You create. I facilitate. The world sees your art, as it should, and in return…” He pauses, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make my stomach twist. “You give me something in return.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. “But what, exactly, am I giving you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he stands, crossing to a side table where a decanter of amber liquid waits. He pours himself a glass—no offer to me, of course—and takes a deliberate sip before turning back.

“Let’s just say,” he begins, his tone as casual as if we’re discussing the weather, “every masterpiece comes with a price. A little piece of yourself. Nothing you’ll miss.”

I laugh, sharp and bitter. “Wow, you’ve really leaned into the tortured artist stereotype, huh?”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even blink. “Do we have an agreement?”

I should say no. I should run out of this mansion and never look back. But the thing is, I’ve been losing pieces of myself for years. Every rejection letter, every sleepless night, every time I’ve watched someone else get what I’ve worked so hard for—it’s all chipped away at me until I’m not even sure there’s anything left to lose.

So I say, “Fine.”

His smile widens, and for a moment, I think I see something flicker behind his eyes. Something dark. Hungry.

“Good,” he says, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “You won’t regret it.”

But as the words leave his mouth, I know I already do.

🖤

The first painting after the deal is unlike anything I’ve ever created.

It practically pours out of me—colors I didn’t even know I could mix, brushstrokes that feel more like instinct than skill. I’m not just painting; I’m breathing life into the canvas.

When I step back, my chest heaving and my hands trembling, I barely recognize it as mine.

It’s beautiful.

Terrifyingly so.

The kind of work that makes people stop in their tracks, lean in closer, feel something deep in their guts. And yet, looking at it fills me with an unease I can’t shake, like it’s staring back at me.

But unease doesn’t pay rent.

I take a picture, upload it to my neglected Instagram account, and go to bed thinking maybe—just maybe—things will start turning around.

They do.

Fast.

I fall asleep after a while. By the time I wake up, my phone is a chaotic mess of notifications.

DMs from gallery owners.

Comments from people asking how much it costs.

Even a message from someone claiming they’re “moved to tears.”

I stare at the screen, half expecting the numbers to fade away like some cruel hallucination.

But they don’t.

“You’re going to regret this,” I whisper to myself.

Because of course I do.

I know better than to believe in miracles without strings attached.

The calls start coming in, one after the other.

Exhibits. Commissions. Opportunities that would’ve been impossible yesterday suddenly feel like they’re being handed to me on a silver platter.

At first, it feels like validation.

Like all the sleepless nights and ramen dinners were finally worth it.

But then the shadows start to creep in.

It’s subtle at first—just little flickers in the corner of my eye, like the light can’t quite reach certain parts of the room. I laugh it off, telling myself I’ve been painting too much, staring at colors until my vision plays tricks on me.

But the flickers don’t stop.

They grow bolder.

One night, I’m working late, the hum of my playlist filling the room, when I feel it.

A cold breath on the back of my neck.

The kind of cold that crawls into your skin, into your bones, and refuses to leave.

I spin around, my brush slipping from my fingers, but there’s nothing there.

Just the shadows pooling around the corners, deeper and darker than they should be.

“It’s nothing”, I tell myself.

Stress.

Sleep deprivation.

Too much caffeine.

But as I turn back to the canvas, I swear the shadows shift, like they’re watching me.

The unease doesn’t go away. It seeps into everything, clinging to me like the smell of turpentine.

Even when I’m not painting, I feel it—the weight of something pressing down on me, growing heavier with every masterpiece I finish.

And yet, I can’t stop. The ideas come faster than I can paint them, my hands moving like they’re not even mine anymore. The work is better than anything I’ve ever done—better than I thought I was capable of. It’s breathtaking. Hypnotic.

And completely, undeniably wrong.

Because every time I finish a painting, I feel it. The pull. Like a thread being tugged from the fabric of my being, unraveling me one masterpiece at a time.

I stare at the latest piece—a haunting portrait of a woman whose eyes seem to follow you no matter where you stand—and feel a pang of something I can’t name. Pride? Dread? Both?

“Who are you?” I whisper to the empty room.

The shadows don’t answer.

But the whispers come at night.

They start as a faint hum, just at the edge of hearing.

It’s like a conversation happening in the next room.

At first, I think it’s the neighbors.

Then I remember the apartment next door has been empty for months.

“Great,” I mutter, pressing my pillow over my head. “I’m hallucinating now. That’s… fine.”

But the whispers don’t stop. They follow me into the studio, curling around me as I work, low and insistent. It’s not words, not exactly, but something close—sounds that almost make sense, just out of reach.

I tell myself it’s stress. I tell myself it’s nothing. I tell myself a lot of things I don’t believe.

A week later, I wake up to find claw marks on the windowsill.

They’re faint, like something tried to dig its way in but gave up halfway. I stare at them for a long time, my coffee growing cold in my hands.

“Animals,” I say aloud, because saying it makes it feel more plausible.

“Or a really ambitious squirrel.”

But the marks aren’t just on the windowsill. They’re on the doorframe, the baseboards, even the legs of my easel. Everywhere, like some unseen thing is trying to make itself known.

The air in the apartment feels heavier now, thick and oppressive.

It’s like it’s pressing down on my chest. I start sleeping with the lights on—not that it helps.

The shadows are still there, darker than ever, creeping closer every time I close my eyes.

And the whispers… the whispers are getting louder.

One night, I wake to find the shadows gathered in the corner of my room, writhing like smoke caught in a draft. They don’t move like shadows should—they don’t follow the light, don’t stay bound to walls. They stretch and twist, growing taller, their edges sharp and jagged.

I don’t scream.

I don’t move.

I just watch, my breath caught in my throat, as the darkness takes shape.

A figure steps out of the shadows, its form shifting and indistinct, like it’s not fully there.

Its eyes—or where its eyes should be—glow faintly, two pinpricks of cold, blue light.

“Jade,” it says, its voice low and hollow, like the wind through a graveyard.

My blood turns to ice. “Who are you?” I whisper.

It tilts its head, its movements unnervingly smooth. “You know who I am.”

The words hit me like a physical blow.

I want to run, to scream, to do anything but sit frozen in my bed.

But I can’t move. Oh God. I can’t move.

I can’t even breathe.

Fuck.

The figure steps closer, its presence filling the room, suffocating.

“Keep going,” it says, its voice curling around me like smoke. “You’re almost there.”

Almost where? I want to ask, but the words won’t come.

The figure leans down, its glowing eyes locking onto mine. “Finish what you started.”

And then it’s gone, slipping back into the shadows as if it was never there.

By morning, I convince myself it was a dream. A nightmare brought on by exhaustion and too much caffeine. But the claw marks on my bedroom door tell a different story.

For the first time, I consider walking away. Leaving the apartment, the paintings, the deal—everything. But the thought feels impossible, like trying to imagine the sky without stars.

Because as much as I hate to admit it, I need this. The recognition. The success. The proof that I matter, that my work matters.

And maybe… maybe I need the shadows, too.

The next painting is a commission. Some tech mogul’s wife saw my work at a gallery opening and decided she absolutely must have one. No concept, no vision—just “something bold” to match the curtains in her overpriced penthouse.

“Sure,” I’d said, smiling through clenched teeth. “Bold. Got it.”

Now I’m standing in front of the blank canvas, staring at it like it personally insulted me. My brushes sit in a neat line on the desk, untouched. The air in the studio is thick, heavy with expectation.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I mutter, picking up a brush.

The moment the bristles touch the canvas, the world tilts.

It’s subtle at first. A faint buzzing in the back of my skull, like the hum of an old fluorescent light. But as the colors bleed across the canvas, it grows louder, sharper, until it feels like my brain is vibrating.

My hand moves on its own, the strokes precise and deliberate, like someone else is guiding me. The colors are richer than anything I’ve ever mixed before—deep, vivid hues that seem to glow against the stark white background.

The shadows gather around me, their edges flickering like they’re alive. They press close, pooling under the easel, spilling onto the floor.

I can’t stop. I don’t want to.

Hours pass, or maybe minutes. Time bends and twists, slipping through my fingers like water. The painting takes shape in front of me, a storm of color and movement that feels more alive than I do.

It’s beautiful. And it’s not mine.

I step back, my legs trembling, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The room is spinning, the shadows closing in, but I can’t look away.

The painting pulses, faint and rhythmic, like a heartbeat.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” a voice says behind me.

I spin around, my heart leaping into my throat. The patron is standing in the doorway, his dark eyes gleaming with something I can’t place.

“How did you—” I start, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

“This is your best work yet,” he says, stepping into the room. His gaze lingers on the painting, his expression almost reverent. “You’ve captured something truly extraordinary.”

I don’t know what to say. My hands are shaking, my body drained, like I’ve run a marathon without leaving the studio.

“What’s happening to me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He turns to me, his smile cold and sharp. “You’re becoming what you were always meant to be.”

Later, when he’s gone, I sit on the floor of the studio, staring at the painting. The shadows have receded, but their presence lingers, like the ghost of a storm.

I reach out, my fingers brushing against the edge of the canvas. The surface feels warm, almost alive, like it’s breathing.

A sharp pain blooms in my chest, and I pull my hand back, clutching at my ribs. The feeling passes quickly, but it leaves me shaken.

I look at the painting again, and for the first time… I wonder if it’s looking back at me.

I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of whispers. At first, I think it’s a dream—a low, rhythmic murmur, like voices bleeding through the walls of an old apartment. But as I sit up in bed, the whispers grow louder, sharper, until they’re all I can hear.

They’re coming from the studio.

I grab the nearest object—a paintbrush, because apparently, I have zero survival instincts—and creep toward the door. The whispers are clearer now, layered and overlapping, like a crowd of people murmuring secrets into the dark.

The studio door is slightly ajar. Light spills through the crack, flickering and uneven, like a fire struggling to stay alive.

My hand shakes as I push the door open.

The painting is glowing.

It’s faint, just a soft pulse of light emanating from the canvas, but it’s enough to make the room feel otherworldly. The shadows stretch long and thin across the floor, twisting into shapes that make my stomach turn.

The whispers are louder here, swirling around me, seeping into my skin.

I step closer to the painting, my bare feet cold against the wooden floor. The colors seem to shift as I move, swirling and blending, forming patterns that are almost recognizable.

And then I see it.

In the center of the painting, hidden among the chaos of color and light, is a face. It’s faint, barely there, but unmistakable. Hollow eyes. A sharp, angular jaw. A mouth twisted into something between a smile and a snarl.

The patron.

I stumble back, my breath catching in my throat. The whispers rise, frantic and urgent, their words slipping through my fingers like sand.

“Stop,” I whisper, pressing my hands over my ears. “Stop it.”

The whispers don’t listen.

The shadows move.

At first, I think it’s a trick of the light. But then they lunge, stretching across the room like black flames, reaching for me.

I scream, grabbing the first thing I can—an empty paint can—and hurl it at the painting. It hits the canvas with a dull thud, but the glow doesn’t falter. If anything, it grows stronger, the light seeping into the shadows, feeding them.

The whispers are deafening now, a cacophony of voices that makes my head throb. The shadows twist and writhe, pulling at the edges of my vision.

I run.

I don’t stop until I’m outside, barefoot on the freezing pavement. The city is quiet, the streets empty, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.

I glance back at the apartment building. The studio window glows faintly, a beacon in the dark.

My hands are trembling, my breath fogging in the cold night air.

I can’t go back.

But I know I will.

It takes me an hour to gather the courage to go back inside. I sit on the curb, shivering in my threadbare hoodie, trying to convince myself this isn’t happening. Maybe I’m sleep-deprived. Maybe I’ve inhaled too many paint fumes. Maybe—

A shadow moves in the corner of my eye.

I whip my head around, but the street is empty. Just the faint hum of a distant car and the flicker of a streetlight struggling to stay alive.

“Nope,” I mutter to myself. “Nope, nope, nope.”

But staying outside isn’t an option. My phone is dead, my wallet’s inside, and—most importantly—I have nowhere else to go. So I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and march back toward the building.

The hallway smells like old paint and despair. My apartment door is still ajar, the faint glow spilling out into the corridor.

I step inside, my heart pounding like a drum.

The studio is alive.

The painting pulses with light, the shadows writhing like living things. The whispers are back, louder and more insistent, their words just on the edge of comprehension.

And in the center of it all, the patron.

He’s not just a face in the painting anymore. He’s there, standing in front of the canvas, his figure flickering like a bad TV signal.

“You’re late,” he says, his voice smooth and unbothered, like this is just a casual Tuesday.

I don’t know whether to scream or laugh, so I settle for neither. “What the hell is going on?” I demand, my voice shaking.

He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a particularly interesting puzzle. “You wanted fame,” he says. “Recognition. Success. And I gave it to you.”

“Yeah? Well, I’d like a refund.”

His smile widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are no refunds, Jade. You signed the contract.”

“What contract?” I snap. “You didn’t give me a contract. You gave me a creepy note and a lot of cryptic nonsense.”

His gaze sharpens, and for the first time, I see something dangerous in his expression. “Everything has a price,” he says, stepping closer. “You knew that when you accepted my offer.”

The whispers surge, wrapping around me like smoke. The shadows stretch toward me, their edges jagged and sharp.

I step back, my pulse roaring in my ears. “I didn’t know I was selling my soul.”

“Semantics,” he says with a shrug. “You’re an artist, Jade. You understand sacrifice.”

The light from the painting grows brighter, the colors swirling faster. The shadows twist and churn, their movements almost frantic.

“You can’t fight this,” he says, his voice low and steady. “You’re mine now. Your art is mine.”

Something inside me snaps.

“No,” I say, the word firm and steady, even as my hands tremble. “It’s not yours. None of it is.”

The patron raises an eyebrow, his smile fading. “You can’t win this.”

“Watch me.”

I grab the nearest object—a palette knife—and lunge for the painting. The whispers scream, the shadows surging toward me like a tidal wave, but I don’t stop.

The blade slashes across the canvas, the colors splitting like an open wound. The light flares, blinding and searing, and the patron lets out a roar that shakes the walls.

The shadows collapse, their forms unraveling into nothingness. The whispers fade, replaced by a deafening silence.

And then, it’s over.

The painting is gone. The patron is gone.

I drop to my knees, the palette knife clattering to the floor.

The studio is still.

The silence is unbearable.

I sit on the cold floor of my studio, staring at the blank wall where the painting used to hang.

My ears are still ringing from the chaos, my hands trembling as if they’re trying to shake off what just happened.

For a moment, I wonder if I imagined it all. If this was some elaborate hallucination brought on by exhaustion and too much instant coffee.

But then I look down at my hands.

They’re trembling, smeared with something I can’t quite place—a residue that clings to my skin like it’s part of me now. Paint? Blood? Shadows? It’s all blurred together.

The easel lies toppled over, the studio around me eerily still, as if the world itself is holding its breath. I try to stand, but my legs buckle beneath me. My chest heaves as I sink back to the floor, my head resting against the wall.

🖤

When they find me, I’m slumped against the easel, dried paint caked on my hands and arms. My body feels like it’s been wrung out and left to dry. I can’t speak. I can’t move. All I can do is stare at the blank canvas leaning against the wall, its surface pristine, like nothing had ever been there.

The paramedics speak softly, their words muffled and distant, like I’m underwater. They ask questions I can’t answer. Am I hurt? Is there anyone else here? Do I know my name?

My name.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. I’m not sure anymore.

The next few weeks blur together. Hospital rooms. Endless tests. Doctors speaking in hushed tones as they glance over my charts. They tell me I’m malnourished, dehydrated, suffering from exhaustion.

They don’t know the half of it.

No one asks about the paintings, about the whispers, about the shadows that no longer stalk me but leave an ache in their absence. No one notices the faint marks on my wrists, like bruises left by invisible chains. No one mentions the small vial of burnt sienna paint tucked into the corner of my hospital bag—a reminder I can’t bring myself to leave behind.

When I’m finally discharged, the apartment feels like a ghost of itself.

The studio is bare. The easel is gone.

The paintings that once crowded the walls have disappeared, claimed by galleries and collectors eager to own a piece of me.

I walk through the empty rooms, my fingers trailing along the chipped paint on the walls. It feels like someone else’s life, someone else’s failure.

In the corner of the studio, I find a single canvas. It’s blank, untouched, but it hums faintly beneath my fingertips, as though it’s waiting for me to pick up a brush.

I don’t.

Instead, I sit on the floor, the canvas leaning against my knees, and stare out the window. For the first time in months, the world outside feels real. The sun is warm on my face, the sky impossibly blue.

But I know the truth.

Somewhere out there, he’s waiting.

Maybe not him, exactly, but someone like him.

Someone who can see the hunger in me.

The desperate, clawing need to be seen, to be known, to matter.

And I wonder, not for the first time, if I’ll ever be strong enough to say no.

THE END.

If you made it to the end of The Patron’s Curse, first of all—THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! Your support means the world to me!!!!! 🖤 This story was such a journey to write, and I’d love to hear your thoughts. Did Jade’s choices resonate with you? What would you have done in her shoes??? Do you think the patron was a metaphor for something deeper, or am I just overthinking it??? (Spoiler: it’s probably both.)

Let’s talk about it in the comments—your interpretations, your favorite moments, or even your own experiences with ambition and the cost of chasing dreams. Or hey, if you just loved the spooky vibes, let me know that too!!!

And for those of you who enjoy this spooky vibe, stay tuned for my non-fictional spooky content! There are Haunted Comedians podcast episodes currently in post-production, where I interviewed a few haunted comedians in-depth about their personal paranormal experiences. I’ll be posting it shortly. And if you’re in Toronto, don’t miss the Haunted Comedians live shows happening in January, May, August, and October. Tickets at hauntedcomedians.eventbrite.ca.

Thanks for reading, and don’t forget to follow for more stories, wild thoughts, gothic vibes, and spooky fun. ✨ Tchau tchau ✨